“It’s like giving birth only people aren’t as nice about it.”
I’ve made the comparison before between giving birth and writing a book, (most recently in my guest blog post for Susan Heim), but this was a new take on it. And, I could relate, because, while UNTANGLING THE KNOT has so far been getting awesome reviews, I am sure that at some point someone won’t like it. With BETTING JESSICA, my first book, this was incredibly hard to hear, particularly as I was responsible for the entire project. Even given that it was my first book, I was disappointed when people found errors or found part of it lacking. Now, with my second book, I am more prepared. I know that not everyone will get my style of writing or my philosophies. They may want a book with more heat… or one with more poetic language. Hopefully they will be kind with their feedback (not everyone is… I was shocked by one of the reviews BETTING JESSICA received). But I also hope they will be honest. This, though, is not true of babies. No one ever says: “Wow, I really wanted to like this baby, but I found myself distracted by his big nose.” Or “This baby has a lot of problems and should have been worked on more before being put out.” I suppose it is because one project (writing) seems to be under the full control of the author while the other, a baby, does not. This, though, is not entirely fair or true. For one thing, just like a baby, writing is the result of the author’s own, personal characteristics. My books are not overly sexy because that is simply not me. They contain a deeper message because that is me. And, like a baby, writing is the coming together of many influences, not the least of which includes inspiration from a higher power. Creation, in any form, is a miracle as far as I am concerned. So, while I may not love every book I pick up and read (or write), it is always worth looking closely to see the unique beauty within.
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“My whole family calls my grandmother Oma.”
Being a grandparent is a funny thing. I should know, since I was one. Wait! Not like that! My daughter’s only eight. But years ago her darn stuffed animals didn’t know what to call me. If she was Mama, then what was I? Gramdma, obviously. NOT! Believe me I nipped that in the bud quick. Still, the fact that my reaction was so severe tells me what it might be like years from now when she finally does have a child. It is one of those milestones which is both exciting and a scary all at once. I look forward to the freedom of it. The ability to watch from afar and laugh at the many trials I am sure her own progeny will put her through. I pray that she has a fun and loving husband to help her with those. And I also pray I will be able to stand far enough away that she makes her own mistakes, but close enough that she always knows I have her back. AT the same time, since we got started late on our family, the day this happens may be so far in the future that I will be too blind to see it. We joke that at her wedding my husband will need a cane to walk her down the aisle. Since I hope she gets to enjoy those early days with her husband, free of children, how much older will we be when we turn up our hearing aides to hear the patter of tiny feet. Still, there is hope that I will at least be able to remember my grandchildren’s names. Last week I saw a news post by the NY Times about the role that brain degeneration has plays on memory loss as we get older. (link). It is nice to know that, someday, if I connect electrodes to my head every night at bedtime, I’ll be able to wake up remembering that the little voice who calls me grandma on the phone is not actually one of her stuffed animals pretend talking. |
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June 2020
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